Never Speak Again
But his gleaming eyes remained fixed on her face. Looking down at her with an expression tangled in confusion, rage, and a strange heat, the man muttered,
"Just who the hell are you…?"
"Can't you tell just by looking?"
Thalia lifted her chin and spoke with a sneer.
"I'm that 'bastard-born, thoroughly wicked woman' you've been ranting about."
The man's face flushed crimson. Only then did the situation seem to snap fully into place in his mind; his eyes, clouded with shock, grew sharp and clear.
Hot breath gusting from his nostrils, he unleashed his voice in a furious roar.
"Even so—this is outrageous! I am a knight and a nobleman! Where in the world is it permitted to treat a noble like this?!"
"And where in the world is it permitted to openly insult the imperial bloodline?"
Thalia cut him off, twisting the corner of her mouth.
"You publicly defamed an imperial princess and committed insubordination against the next sovereign. You should count yourself lucky I stopped at a wine baptism—you'd have no grounds to complain if your head had rolled."
"I was only offering frank counsel born of loyalty—!"
"Save your dog's barking for the dogs."
Her eyes glittered with venom as she drove him back.
"Loyalty? Frank counsel? Don't make me laugh. You were just howling your grievances at random."
As if crushed by the poison she radiated, the man flinched and took a step back.
Watching him with open mockery, Thalia let slip the soft, deliberate voice she always used when she meant to scrape someone raw.
"If Aila is so pitiful and so tragic, why don't you run to her and offer comfort yourself? Who knows? The perfect princess the entire empire adores might just bestow her grace upon you."
Then she looked him over slowly from head to toe and let out a light, frivolous laugh.
"No—on second thought, you won't do. My sister is surprisingly particular about faces."
The man's face was now nearly scarlet, burning as if on fire.
Barcas watched in silence as the heat in the man's eyes transformed into fierce hostility.
Fascination turned to enmity; desire to rage—swiftly substituted. Most men who encountered her reacted that way. The man leaned toward her, veins standing out in the whites of his eyes, as if ready to lunge at any moment.
He had been patient long enough.
Barcas pulled the hood up over her head, cupped the back of her small head, and drew her tight against his chest. Thalia sucked in a startled breath and flailed her arms.
Holding her firmly as she tried to pull free, he carefully studied the man's expression. Even as he seethed with humiliation, the man fretted as if desperate to snatch the woman from Barcas's arms.
Eyes bulging, grinding his teeth, the man shouted,
"Hand her over at once! I cannot simply let this insult stand!"
"And if you don't let it stand, what then? Planning to cross blades with me? Or what—"
Thalia, shoving at his hand and shouting at the man, suddenly fell silent. She seemed at last to sense the ominous air surrounding him.
Barcas carefully covered her face with the hood as she glanced up at him for cues, then observed the reactions of those present.
Most wore blank, stunned expressions, but more than a few looked on with a mix of interest and curiosity. Of course, several also displayed open hostility.
His plan to carefully secure the obedience of his vassals and fortify his foundation without gaps already seemed to have gone awry.
Swallowing a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the massive man.
"I suppose I must repeat the question my wife asked. If you refuse to let this go—what do you intend to do?"
"I demand an apology for the insult I have suffered!"
Barcas stroked his chin as if considering the man's demand.
Alec Gutban was a man of considerable influence in the southeastern region. Among the warriors of the Khan Tribe, who revered martial valor, more than a few blindly followed this man.
Commanding a cavalry force of hundreds of powerful warriors and having firmly established himself as a regional magnate, he had no doubt presumed he could bend a green youth in his early twenties to his will.
Coming to raise this kind of commotion the moment Barcas returned was likely an attempt to seize the initiative.
Barcas twisted the corner of his mouth.
"You insist on an apology?"
"I do! Apologize courteously, before everyone, for insulting and mocking me!"
"What do you think?"
Barcas lowered his gaze and put the question to Thalia.
"Are you inclined to grant that demand?"
A look of betrayal shot up at him at once. Chandelier light shimmered across those deep blue irises that always scraped at something deep within him.
"I'd rather die. I'd bite my tongue off first!"
"So she says."
When he cast a dry look back at the man, a damp malice rose in those bloodshot eyes.
The man spat the words as if chewing them.
"Then, Young Lord, apologize on your wife's behalf. No matter what, I will extract payment for the insult I have endured."
Sharp intakes of breath sounded from all around. Even those who had meant to test him seemed rattled by a demand that went too far.
Barcas paused a moment, then slowly opened his mouth. At that instant, an urgent hand stopped him.
Looking down, Barcas saw her bloodless face and furrowed his brow. Thalia, gripping his arm tightly, cried out in a cracked, frantic voice,
"Don't. If you apologize, I won't let it go!"
Once again, something stirred in his gut. Before, he had thought the sensation close to displeasure. But now the thought crossed his mind that it might not be that at all.
He peeled her hand away and slowly stepped forward to face the man. The man's gaze was still locked on her. Blocking that stare, Barcas spoke softly into the face reeking of strong wine.
"We are people of the East, are we not? If you want something, you must take it by force."
"You mean…"
A thick light of suspicion rose over the man's panting face. Barcas added calmly,
"We will settle this the traditional way. We duel. If you win, I will apologize courteously before everyone."
A fierce stir swept through the banquet hall.
Contrary to his expectation that the man would leap at the proposal at once, the man withheld his answer and sent a probing look. Barcas thought that perhaps half of this man's extreme words and actions might be a performance.
After studying him with cunning eyes, the man finally spoke.
"Do you even properly understand what a duel means? A duel in this land is of a different quality from the childish games played at the imperial palace. To us, a duel means a life-or-death contest where you stake your life."
Thalia, breathing hard, yanked at his coat. Ignoring it, he answered in an indifferent tone,
"So—are you afraid?"
A thick vein rose across the man's broad forehead. Looking him over with open scorn, the man soon let out a sneer.
"Your spirit, at least, is worthy of an Eastern man."
"Your answer?"
"Very well. I accept the duel."
No sooner had the man's answer fallen than murmuring erupted on all sides.
Barcas gave a nod toward Daren, who wore a dazed expression as if startled by the sudden turn of events.
"Prepare a horse and armor."
"The sun has already set. If we wait until daybreak tomorrow—"
"Why drag this out until then?"
Cutting Daren off, Barcas looked up at the man as if to provoke him.
"The Khan Tribe learn to ride and fight before they even take their first steps. Does a setting sun pose a problem for us?"
"No problem at all."
The man growled back.
"You there! Bring my armor and weapons at once!"
"Sir Gutban, please calm yourself for now and let us discuss this again tomorrow—"
When a young man who appeared to be an aide urgently tried to restrain him, the man smashed a fist into his face.
"Don't make me say it twice!"
Clutching his bleeding nose, the young man scrambled out of the banquet hall.
Now a heat of excitement began to circulate through the hall. The man, too, was flushed with agitation. He spoke as if chewing each syllable.
"The duel will be fought before everyone. If I win, you will plant your head on the ground right there and apologize. For a life-or-death contest, that much recompense is only fitting, is it not?"
"B-Barcas!"
Thalia, frozen by the situation spinning out of control, stepped into his path.
He barely managed to turn his eyes to her. Thalia muttered in a voice that barely rose above a whisper.
"I-I'll just apologize myself… I'll apologize, so… don't do anything reckless."
That tear-soaked voice scraped mercilessly through his gut. He pulled the robe tighter to cover her face more carefully, then looked up at the man with expressionless eyes.
"Fine. I'll do as you wish."
The man's smile deepened. It was the face of a man certain of his own victory.
Alec Gutban smacked his lips like a bear before its prey and asked,
"And what will you demand, Young Lord, should you win?"
Just then, servants rushed into the hall carrying armor. Taking a gauntlet from a quick-moving boy, Barcas tilted his head. The answer that slipped out sounded dry even to his own ears.
"I have nothing I wish to demand of you."
Sliding his hand into the iron glove, Barcas added slowly,
"If I win, you will never be able to speak again."